


Rings And Paperwork

by flawedamythyst



Series: Horse And Carriage [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 16:38:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock register their Civil Partnership.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rings And Paperwork

Rings And Paperwork

 

John hit send on the email, then sat back with a sigh, glancing at the clock. “Time for bed, I reckon,” he said.

Sherlock, who had been sitting in his chair, plucking idly at his violin while staring blankly at the wall for at least two hours, roused from his reverie enough to reply. “Good idea,” he agreed. “You'll want to be well-rested for tomorrow.”

John paused in the action of putting his laptop on the table and searched his mind, but as far as he knew, all he had planned for tomorrow was a trip to the shops, and maybe a haircut if he could find the motivation. He'd been rather hoping that a case would present itself and give them both something to do. “Will I?” he asked carefully.

Sherlock gave him a frankly worrying smile, and his plucking took on a more purposeful strain. After a moment, John recognised The Wedding March. “We're getting married,” said Sherlock.

“Oh,” said John. He desperately tried to remember if he'd known that and just blocked it out, but he was pretty sure a date had never been specified. “You didn't think to tell me that earlier?”

Sherlock made an impatient noise. “You knew it was happening,” he said. “I told you when we went to give notice that the registration would be roughly a fortnight later.”

“A fortnight isn't a particularly precise date though, is it?” said John. “I could have had something on.”

“Then you'd have had to cancel,” said Sherlock in a miffed voice, stopping his plucking. “Really, John, I should think getting married is a bit more important than anything else you could have had planned.”

John took a deep breath and let the point go. There was no point in bothering to argue with Sherlock about something that was already done.

“Well, do I need to do anything?” he asked.

He could remember months of rushing about organising things before Harry's wedding, but he supposed none of that was needed this time. They'd gone in together to give notice and to prove they were who they said they were, and since then, John had heard nothing about it. He'd been happy enough not to bring the subject up – a large part of him was still in shock that he'd agreed to it, and he rather thought some time to adjust to the idea was a good thing. Clearly, Sherlock had just taken his silence as free rein to sort the whole thing out himself.

“It is all under control,” said Sherlock. “Just be here and ready at half past two.”

“Right,” said John. His mouth had gone a bit dry at just the thought of it. This time tomorrow, he'd be a married man. The thought prompted a rush of terror that he firmly quashed. He had said he'd go through with this, and so he would. Backing down this late would be a horrible thing to do.

Sherlock gave him a pleased smile. “Good night, then.” He didn't look worried or nervous at all – in fact, he looked a lot happier than John could remember seeing him when there wasn't a murder involved.

John was halfway upstairs when another thought crashed through his brain. What the hell was he going to wear?

 

****

 

The next afternoon found him descending to the sitting room in the suit that he had worn to Harry's wedding, thanking his lucky stars that it still mostly fitted. He'd decided against wearing the hot pink tie that Harry had insisted on for all the men in her half of the wedding party, though. He might be getting married to a man, but he did had some standards. Besides, pink looked awful on him.

Oh god, he was getting married to a man. The butterflies that had been congregating in his stomach since he woke up that morning turned into a cold wave. _I'm marrying Sherlock,_ he told himself firmly. That was different to just marrying some random man.

Sherlock was waiting for him in the sitting room. He was dressed as he always was, which John wasn't really surprised by. Somehow, Sherlock always made a suit look like precisely the right attire for whatever he was doing, even when what he was doing was shinning up a drainpipe.

Sherlock gave John a once over, his eyes resting on his regimental tie for a moment before giving him an approving look. “Ready?” he asked.

John nodded. “Let's get hitched,” he said, trying to sound light-hearted, but unable to keep some of the nervous edge out of his voice.

“Sounds like an excellent plan,” replied Sherlock, giving him a beaming smile before setting off down the stairs, bounding down them two at a time. John followed slightly slower, trying to keep the feeling in his stomach under control and thinking that it was rather nice to have someone so eager to marry him, even if it was only Sherlock.

Sherlock knocked rapidly on Mrs. Hudson's door. “Are you ready?” he called.

“One moment,” came Mrs. Hudson's voice back.

“She's coming?” asked John with surprise.

Sherlock turned to lean against the wall as they waited, looking like a nonchalant loafer in a black-and-white film. John eyed his relaxed pose and wished he could borrow some of it. “She's agreed to be one of our witnesses,” Sherlock said.

“Ah, right,” said John. He'd forgotten that they'd need witnesses, and that it wouldn't just be the two of them and the registrar. That made it feel a bit more real, and he felt the wave rise up again. He beat it back. “And the other?”

“Mycroft will be there,” said Sherlock.

John stared at him. “You invited him?”

“Of course not,” said Sherlock.

Ah no, of course not. “You didn't even bother telling him, did you?” realised John.

Sherlock shrugged. “What would be the point? I guarantee he knew even before we gave notice.”

John remembered the incredible amounts of surveillance that Mycroft had had on him and his exes, and thought that he'd probably known the instant John had said yes.

Mrs. Hudson finally emerged from her flat, wearing one of the biggest hats that John had ever seen, piled high with netting and fake flowers and one enormous feather. “Oh, boys!” she gushed. “Isn't this exciting? You must be all over the place!”

Sherlock and John exchanged glances. “John's a bit nervous,” said Sherlock.

“Oh, you mustn't be,” said Mrs. Hudson, turning the full force of her attention onto John. “It's going to be wonderful!”

Was wonderful really the word? John managed a smile back at her. “Yes, I suppose it will be.”

Sherlock looked at his watch. “It won't be if we're late,” he said. “Come on.” He marched off, and John and Mrs. Hudson followed.

“My husband was nervous,” she confided in John. “He was so white when I entered the church that I thought he was going to faint for a moment.” She tipped her head to one side. “I suppose, given everything that happened, I should have been the one that was nervous, but I really just wanted to get the thing over with and put an end to my mother's frightful meddling. She was a terror during the planning, you know. Kept insisting we add endless obscure relatives to the guest list, and then announced that the flowers were the wrong colour just as it was too late to change them. And the things she tried to put bows on!”

Mrs. Hudson kept up a monologue about her own wedding all the way to the Register Office, which both distracted John and made him very, very glad that this wasn't going to be a massive, traditional nightmare of a service. At least they didn't have any tiny children as bridesmaids who might throw up on their shoes, or dresses so elaborate that moving became an issue, or any of that rubbish.

Mycroft was waiting outside the Register Office when they arrived, and he gave them all a wide and rather smarmy smile. “Sherlock,” he said. “Doctor Watson. What an excellent day for it.”

John glanced up at the grey clouds that had already sent a few stray drops down on them on the walk, and wondered what he thought a bad day looked like.

Sherlock huffed a sigh. “As if the day matters,” he said. “Come on, John.” He leapt up the steps and inside, where he strode over to the reception desk to tell them they'd arrived.

“Eager, isn't he?” said Mycroft, sounding deeply amused as they followed him.

“Oh, it's so nice to see him like this,” said Mrs. Hudson. She patted John's arm. “You really are such a good thing for him, you know, dear.”

John felt the nerves come back with full force. What if he couldn't live up to Sherlock's idea of what this marriage was going to be? What if it put too much pressure on them – they were only friends, after all; why were they making a lifetime commitment to each other? His mind flashed through all the ways this could go horribly wrong and he began to feel nauseated in addition to everything else.

“Yes,” agreed Mycroft. “I am grateful you decided to go through with it.” Oh god, and if John did mess this up, he was going to have to face Mycroft's wrath as well as the death of the best friendship he'd ever had.

Mycroft reached into his pocket. “I have something for you, Doctor Watson.”

A full list of all the consequences if he made Sherlock unhappy? A microchip with a GPS tracker, to be embedded in his flesh so that he'd never be able to escape? An ankle monitor that would electrocute him if he managed to upset Sherlock?

Instead, Mycroft pulled out a small jewellery box. “When our parents married, our father gave our mother a pair of pearl earrings. I know she hoped they would be passed on to either my or Sherlock's spouse, and so, as you don't strike me as the earring type, I have had them turned into cufflinks for you.”

John blinked at him and took the box, opening it. The cufflinks were very fine, and almost certainly worth more than he wanted to know. “Oh,” he said, then cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together. “Thank you,” he said. “They're lovely.”

“Welcome to the family,” said Mycroft, and John had another heart-stopping moment of 'oh god, I'm becoming a Holmes', followed by the thought that he probably should have told Harry about this, even if she would never have understood.

“Don't remind him that he's going to be related to you, you'll scare him off,” said Sherlock, appearing at John's side. He put a hand on John's shoulder and the touch grounded John a bit.

“Not going anywhere,” he managed. He'd invaded Afghanistan. He'd chased serial killers. He could get through a damned wedding. He set about changing his cufflinks over, struggling with the awkwardness of doing it all one-handed. Sherlock reached out and took them from him, putting them on for John without bothering to ask.

Well, that was a bonus to having a spouse that John hadn't really thought about. The next time he had to try and get a bowtie straight for a black tie event, he could just make Sherlock do it for him.

“I have something for you as well, Sherlock,” said Mycroft. “But if you're going to treat it with your usual carelessness, then I shall hold onto it for a bit longer.”

Sherlock gave him a narrow-eyed look. “What is it?” he asked.

Mycroft pulled another, larger box out of his other pocket. “Grandfather's watch,” he said. “Grand-mère had it engraved on their twentieth wedding anniversary, you know.”

Sherlock stood very still for a moment, staring at the box, then he nodded once. “I'll take it,” he said, reaching out for the box.

Mycroft didn't hand it over immediately. “No experiments,” he said. “No 'accidents'. No jumping in the Thames with it. It is worth a lot, you know.”

“I'll be careful,” Sherlock said and snatched the box away from Mycroft in a way that said the opposite. He opened it up, and John peered over his shoulder to see a large, silver wristwatch with Rolex inscribed discreetly on the face. Sherlock pulled it out of the box, examined it for a moment, before flipping it over to read the inscription. It was in French, but whatever it said made Sherlock roll his eyes.

“Such an over-emotional nation,” he muttered, then took off his own watch and replaced it, then tucked both his old watch and the box in a pocket.

John watched as a look of satisfaction crossed Mycroft's face and thought that he was taking this thing very seriously. That did not lessen the weight in his stomach.

“Mr. Holmes,” said a man in a neat suit, walking up to them and shaking hands with Sherlock. “How wonderful to see you again.” He didn't really sound sincere, which meant that he'd spent longer than two minutes in Sherlock's company at some stage.

“Good afternoon,” said Sherlock, then put his hand back on John's shoulder. John wondered if he had some ulterior motive for all this slightly-possessive touching, or if he was hoping it would calm down John's nerves a bit. The thought that Sherlock might be nervous as well flitted across John's mind for a moment before he dismissed it. Sherlock didn't do nervous. “This is John.”

“It's good to meet you,” said the man, shaking John's hand. “I'm Mr. Stephens, I'll be the Registrar for your Civil Partnership today.”

“Ah,” said John. “Good, that's good.”

“John's nervous,” said Sherlock, and John glared at him. Why did he keep having to tell people that?

“Oh, there's no need to be,” said Mr. Stephens. “This is going to be extremely simple. No fuss at all.” He glanced at Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson. “If your guests would like to make their way to the Yellow Room,” he gestured down a corridor, “I'm afraid there's just a tiny bit of bureaucracy before we can begin.”

Sherlock scowled. “I thought we'd already gone through all that rubbish?”

“Do be polite, Sherlock, or you'll be the one to scare Doctor Watson off,” said Mycroft. He turned to Mrs. Hudson, ignoring the look of death that Sherlock sent his way. “Shall we?” he asked, offering her his arm.

“Oh, thank you dear,” she said, taking it. “Oh, I'm getting all emotional already. I shall end up crying at this rate.”

“And if the happy couple could come this way,” said Mr. Stephens, and led John and Sherlock to an office.

“What more do you need?” asked Sherlock. “Forms signed in blood?”

“Ahahaha,” said Mr. Stephens in a completely humourless way that said that he was braced for just how difficult Sherlock could be, and he was determined to get through this as professionally as possible.

“Behave, Sherlock,” said John. “Or I really will be scared away.”

Sherlock made a scoffing noise, but shut up after that. They got through the various details needed for the certificate with a minimum amount of sarcastic comments, then Mr. Stephens gave them both a wide grin.

“Excellent,” he said, collecting up the bits of paperwork. “And you're still sure you don't want any ceremony?” he added, glancing at Sherlock.

“Very sure,” said Sherlock. “We're just here to sign a piece of paper.”

No ceremony? John let out a tiny breath of relief. He'd been having images of having to stand up next to Sherlock, repeating words that didn't really apply to them. Harry's wedding had featured nearly two hours of her and Clara promising each other things that they'd failed at within six months.

“There is more to a Civil Partnership than signing a piece of paper,” said Mr. Stephens, sounding a bit flustered. “I do hope you're not taking this lightly.”

“Of course we're not,” said Sherlock. “We both know where we stand with each other, and why we're doing this. Signing the paper is all that's left to do.”

Mr. Stephens regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “Very well, then,” he said. “If you'd like to follow me into the Yellow Room, we can take care of that final detail for you.”

As John followed him, he wished that he could be as sure as Sherlock seemed to be about why they were doing this. It was starting to feel very real in a way that it hadn't when he'd been sitting on the sofa in 221B. Agreeing to make a commitment was one thing, but all this bureaucracy and heirloom-giving was making him wonder if maybe this wasn't too much.

Sherlock glanced back at him and a tiny frown creased his face at whatever he saw. John pulled himself together and gave him a reassuring smile. _Just wedding jitters_ , he told himself. If it had made sense when it was just the two of them in their home, then it would again. They were just signing a bit of paper, and then they could go home and just be John-and-Sherlock again, and not 'the happy couple' or any of that rubbish.

 

****

 

The Yellow Room was very yellow, and larger than John had been expecting. Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson were sat together in the front row of chairs, looking a little out-of-place amongst all the empty ones.

“Oh,” exclaimed Mrs. Hudson as they came in. “Just look at you two!” She pulled out a handkerchief. “Oh, I just knew I'd cry!”

Mycroft gave her an alarmed look that made John smile, especially when he saw Sherlock suppressing his own smile.

“Right,” said Mr. Stephens, bringing John and Sherlock to the front of the room. “Well. I'd like to welcome you to-”

“Dull!” interrupted Sherlock. “Get on with it.”

“Sherlock!” hissed John. “I am so sorry,” he added to Mr. Stephens.

“No, no,” said Mr. Stephens, looking a little as if he'd just watched someone set fire to the Mona Lisa. John had a feeling that he was going to be almost as glad as John would be once this whole thing was over. “It's fine. I'll, ah, just cut to the chase, so to speak. If I could just ask the two of you to repeat the following statement after me.”

John tensed again. Oh god, he wasn't about to have to claim that he was going to love, honour and obey Sherlock, was he?

“I declare that I know of no legal reason why we may not register as each other's civil partner,” said Mr Stephens.

John let out a breath. Well, that was easy enough. There was no _legal_ reason, after all, just what most people would consider the pretty obvious personal reason that they were just friends. The law didn't care about that. He repeated the phrase with Sherlock, keeping his voice as steady as he could. Sherlock drawled it as if bored, of course.

“I understand that on signing this document we will be forming a civil partnership with each other,” continued Mr. Stephens.

John managed to get through that as well, although he did stumble over the words 'civil partnership' as the weight of what they were doing hit him again. Mr. Stephens gave him a reassuring smile, and John felt his chin go up. He was going to get through this with the minimum amount of condescension. There'd be plenty of time to let the impact of it all sink in later, once they were alone.

Behind him, he heard Mrs. Hudson begin to sob loudly.

“Excellent,” said Mr. Stephens. “Just the document to sign, then, and you'll be officially civil partners.”

Sherlock signed first, his signature gliding elegantly over the page and overshooting the space allowed for it on all sides. When John took the pen after him, he found his hand freezing before it touched the page. This was it, his last chance to realise what a ridiculous thing this was to do and back out. He stared at the words Civil Partnership at the top of the page, and then at the two columns of their names, birth dates, occupations, parents, their whole lives laid out next to each other. They were tying their lives together, not just signing a piece of paper.

“John,” said Sherlock quietly, and John glanced up at him. Sherlock looked as calm and confident as he ever did, but something deep in his eyes looked like a shadow of what John was feeling.

 _He's worried I won't do it,_ thought John. He made himself think about linking his life with Sherlock's officially. It was _Sherlock_ after all. Half the time when he went somewhere without him, people asked where he was, as if they were joined at the hip. Almost his entire text inbox was either from Sherlock, or from someone trying to get hold of Sherlock. The vast majority of the Christmas cards they'd got last year had been jointly addressed to them both. Their lives were already tied together – even if John did get married to a woman at some point, Sherlock was still going to be a huge part of who he was.

He looked back down at the certificate and signed his name in a firm hand. He was just putting his name to something that was already true, after all.

Sherlock let out a breath that John didn't think he was meant to hear, and Mr. Stephens beamed at them.

“Congratulations!” he said. “Now, if the witnesses could just come forward.”

John and Sherlock stepped out of the way for Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft to sign their names, and Sherlock put his hand on the small of John's back. “There is one more thing,” he said, and reached into his pocket to pull out a pair of rings.

John stared at them and Sherlock's hand twitched. “If you wanted,” he added.

For a moment, John couldn't work out how he felt about wearing a ring that would tell the world that he'd married Sherlock, and then he realised that, actually, he quite liked the idea of people knowing just by looking that he had a partner to support him and watch his back.

“Which one's mine?” he asked. Sherlock gestured at one of the rings, and John picked up the other one. “Give me your hand, then,” he said.

Sherlock offered his left hand without a word and John slid the ring on, wondering how such a simple gesture could feel so intimate. Sherlock took his hand in return and put his ring on, then just held his fingers for a second. “I do appreciate you going through with this, John,” he said in very low voice.

John shrugged, gave Sherlock's hand a squeeze and let go. “Couldn't let you keep harassing the nurses for entry to my hospital rooms,” he said. “The NHS has enough problems as it is.”

Sherlock snorted. “Ah, yes, anything for the good of the NHS,” he said.

“And you said this meant I could nag you,” John reminded him. “I think I'm going to start with the dead frog in the bathroom sink.”

Sherlock gave him a startled look. “That's an experiment!” he said. “I need it to stay there for at least another three days.”

“Three days?” exclaimed John, all humour forgotten. “Sherlock, where am I meant to brush my teeth?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Over the bath?”

“Do you think you two could at least wait until you've been married an hour before you start bickering?” asked Mycroft.

“No,” said Sherlock. “I have been given to believe that married couples are meant to bicker.”

“I was given to believe I paid enough rent to be able to expect a habitable bathroom,” muttered John, then Sherlock's words hit him. _Married couple._ Christ, this really was ridiculous. He looked at Sherlock, thinking to himself _I'm married to him._ The thought struck him as hilarious, and he couldn't stop himself from starting to laugh.

“Sorry,” he said between giggles as Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him. “Sorry, it's just. We're _married._ What the hell?”

Sherlock looked at him and then grinned, joining in John's laughter after a moment. “And you thought chasing that cab was the most ridiculous thing you'd ever done,” he said.

John laughed harder at that, at the memory of standing next to Sherlock and being unable to believe he'd just done that, a feeling he'd had dozens of times since. “Not even in the top ten any more,” he said.

“Oh, look at you two,” said Mrs. Hudson fondly. “Oh, we should have brought a camera!”

“That will not be a problem,” said Mycroft, and John realised that he was holding his phone and aiming the lens at him and Sherlock.

The laughter fell off Sherlock's face, and he scowled. “Mycroft!” he hissed with far more anger than John thought the action warranted.

John took his wrist in an effort to calm him. “Leave it,” he said. “Don't you think it'd be good to have some photos?”

Sherlock gave him a look, then returned his glare to Mycroft. “One or two,” he relented.

“Marvellous,” said Mycroft and took another, which must have just been Sherlock glaring at him. Well, it was a good glare, perhaps there should be a record of it.

“Ah,” interrupted Mr. Stephens. “Your certificate is ready.”

Sherlock snatched the document from his hands. “Then we're all done,” he said.

John took the certificate from him. “I'll look after that,” he said. “You'll only end up covering it in frog innards.”

Sherlock pulled on a put-upon expression that John thought might have been borrowed from him. “I'm not dissecting the frog,” he said. “I'm dissecting the scorpion.”

John froze. “What scorpion?” he asked.

Sherlock looked caught out for a split-second, then swiftly turned to Mr. Stephens. “Well, if that's everything,” he said, holding his hand out. “Thank you.”

Mr. Stephens shook it. “It's nothing. Congratulations, I hope you're very happy together. Ah, regardless of scorpions.”

“They will be,” said Mycroft with a satisfied smile that worried John more than any other aspect of the day had.

“Oh, it's so beautiful,” said Mrs. Hudson, starting to tear up again. “I'm so pleased for you both!”

The threat of another round of tears was enough to chase Sherlock out of the room, followed by the others. They paused on the front steps as a large, black car pulled up, and Anthea (or whatever she was called today) stepped out.

“I should like a photo of all four of us, if I might trouble you all for a moment of your time,” said Mycroft.

Sherlock scowled. “Can't you just take a screenshot from the CCTV?” he asked.

“It's hardly the same,” said Mycroft. “You know the quality of those images leaves much to be desired.”

Sherlock let out a sigh, but suffered to stand still while Anthea took a handful of pictures of the four of them on her phone.

“Excellent,” said Mycroft once she was finished. “Well, I would have arranged some sort of post-wedding celebration, but I know Sherlock already has something planned, so I will leave you to it.”

John glanced at Sherlock. “You've got something planned?” he asked. Images of what Sherlock might consider a good way to celebrate a wedding skittered through his mind, taking in everything from hunting a serial killer to something uncomfortably expensive and ostentatious.

Sherlock huffed in Mycroft's direction before replying. “Just dinner at Angelo's,” he said.

John relaxed. “Oh, that sounds good.”

“I thought so,” said Sherlock, smiling again now that he wasn't looking at Mycroft.

“Mrs. Hudson, would you care for a lift home?” offered Mycroft.

“Oh, that would be very nice of you,” said Mrs. Hudson. She gave both Sherlock and John a peck on the cheek, and squeezed their hands for a moment. “Congratulations! I really am so pleased for you both. Married! It's so exciting!”

“So I'd gathered,” said Sherlock.

A large wedding crowd suddenly emerged from the Register Office with a bride wearing possibly the largest dress that John had ever seen, and all of them shrieking with joy. For a moment both Mycroft and Sherlock had identical expressions of distaste, then Mycroft swept Mrs. Hudson away in his car, and Sherlock put his hand on John's back again to guide him towards Angelo's.

 

****

 

Angelo was his usual effusive self, conducting Sherlock and John to the table in the window with a constant stream of chatter about how good it was to see them and how pleased he'd be to get them anything they wanted, and finishing up with, “I like the posh togs. Is it a special occasion?”

“We've been at a wedding,” said Sherlock.

Angelo clapped his hands together. “Oh, lovely!” he exclaimed. “Someone you're close to?”

John felt himself tense at just the idea of Angelo's reaction to finding out that it had been theirs and he clenched his hand automatically around his ring in an effort to hide it.

Sherlock threw a perceptive glance his way and replied with, “Just family.” John let out a sigh of relief.

“Very nice,” said Angelo. “How was it? Was it a big one?”

“Not at all,” said John. “It was extremely small and simple, actually.” Sherlock looked over at him with a faint frown, and John found himself adding, “It was exactly what the couple wanted.”

A tiny smile creased Sherlock's mouth as Angelo clapped his hands together again. “Fantastic,” he said. “I love weddings! Let me get you the menu, and a candle, of course.” He disappeared.

Sherlock gave John a look that John wasn't sure how to read. “You're steadier now,” he observed. “Earlier you were very nervous.”

John smiled. “Nothing to be done now,” he said. He spread his hand against the table and tapped his ring against the surface. “It's all signed and sealed.”

Sherlock nodded, spreading his fingers to look at his own ring. “Yes,” he agreed.

And, reflected John as Angelo brought over their menus and the inevitable candle, it wasn't as if it was going to be for their whole lives. Sherlock had said they'd get a divorce if – when - John found a woman he wanted to marry. They'd just formalised the strength of their friendship, nothing more.


End file.
